A fleck of black against sea-green. That was all Echolalia was.
But wasn't that what she always was? Just a fleck of black? After all, she was just an itsy bitsy raven, and everyone else was so much bigger! And that was why she flew, after all - another cache of her beautiful-beautiful-beautiful shiny-shiny-shiny things lost to a bigger beastie, a fluffy one with sharp-sharp teeth! And she knew better than to challenge those sharp-sharp teeth, and though she hated to she'd abandoned her things; there was, after all, always more things, and only one her!
So she flew-flew-flew, as far as she could, away from the sharp-sharp teeth and the fluffy beastie, not quite wanting to eat. But her wings grew tired, and the pretty-pretty water was coming to an end, she saw, to an island she thought it was called, with a wooden thing she didn't know the name of, which was fine because she didn't know the name of many things, but maybe this island wouldn't have fluffy things with sharp-sharp teeth? and she could have a cache here! a safe one with all her things! all new things, too, and she could bring them over from the mainland! so she swooped down and alighted on the pier, ruffling her feathers and sighing as she stretched her weary-weary wings.